


live coals

by afearsomecritter (jsaer)



Category: UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22242172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsaer/pseuds/afearsomecritter
Summary: The church burns.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	live coals

**Author's Note:**

> no idea what this is, hope y'all like it

\---

The church burns.

The Reverend had been singing just the other day, the hymn hanging in the colored light from the remaining bits of stained glass and his deep voice catching in the listeners chest.

The new walls had barely been set up, nails bright and shiny and wood waiting for paint.

(“singing or screaming, i can’t tell which-”)

It happens at night and happens fast, flames roaring into the sky far faster and fiercer than mere burning wood could account for.

(“-it’s in the air, it’s in the _dirt_ -”)

It’s a delicate skeletal husk by morning, embers still hot and flickering like beating hearts. 

(“singing or-”)

Nobody can find the Reverend, at first. He'd been living in the church since the roof got put on, and most fear the worst.

He shows up hours later, standing and staring in front of the remnants of the church and he says something about having been out near the cemetery, that he’d fallen asleep. He’s so sorry for the worry, he assures them, he’ll find somewhere to hold services in the mean time, he says.

(“-how do you want-”)

One would think having the church burnt down twice in the span of a year might constitute as a hint, but if nothing else the Reverend is a stubborn son of a bitch.

As it is Deadwood don’t seem to mind it’s preacher giving soft spoken advice and sermons over whiskey stained saloon tables or perched on a porch railing, don’t seem to mind how the man always smells faintly of smoke. He gives good advice and his speech in front of a church that had only been half burned holds true, he never flinches at the dark in hearts bared to him, stares unblinking at jagged truths and lies and he soothes or lances or stitches as needed.

(“-screaming I can’t tell whi-”)

A few try to start trouble with him, this preacher who does his work in saloons for folks who’d never step inside a church. He just regards them with a faint smile and shifted weight and something burning in his dark eyes-

A few try to start trouble. Just a few. 

(“-to dispel-”)

The remnants of the church stay burning, the low banked embers never quite wink out, no matter how much water or eventually snow is applied. It becomes unremarkable, eventually, an easy source of heat to gather by in cooler months. 

The embers do sputter and die when carried away, and a few enterprising souls try to simply remove everything that could burn, but there’s always something left. Sometimes it's what they just removed. It is no longer a conflagration, just a quiet steady heartbeat of embers.

Someone finds some charred and warped bits of bone, while trying to clear the burn. They don’t tell anyone, and leave the bones where they are.

(“-your hate”)

\---


End file.
